Nguyễn Thị Bích Nga

A BEAUTIFUL GIRL

        NGUYEN ANH NONG

She hides the galaxy in her flaps
She walks aimlessly as if she were some clouds
She makes the moon and the stars burst out breaking
The castle and the walls collapse
The wind is thin, the bell is insipid, and the trees are stunned


Pleiku, 27.9.2004

THE HOT SNOW REGION
           NGUYEN ANH NONG

I.

Tonight
I put my head
on thousands of restless reeds
Outside
a chicken dreams about the world of the dawn
It sings a love song of the ancient time
It flaps the wings of the sunset
It lovingly embraces the egg of the sun
The wave or the wind
has its tender breath?
II.
You or the clouds
put a loving and missing scarf on my shoulders?
A scarf is dreamy and vague.
The moonlight or your immense shadow?
You look at yourself in the face of the river
or the mountain looks at itself in your face?
- then the scent is spreading.
A deer calls his friend,
calls the moonlight to caress a fragrant wind
A gecko calls the rain, calls the sun
A boucal flies, counting the time
A bamboo rat gnaws a reed
with the sounds like a dog chews a bone
in the pleasure of the early morning
I burn the time – a coal is burned until the end –
and you are – flickered, illusory.
III.
You're very far from me
A candle – is a vague belief
The time – is an artist,
who is drawing the scent and the color over the forest
I am – a lonely gazelle,
who feel thirsty for
a hot snow region.

THE BRIGHT AND CLEAR RHYTHMS
         NGUYEN ANH NONG

With the bright and clear behavior,

a young soldier

writes on the black board

his fresh writings,

his thinking of the sunlight.

The writings have legs and they romp out.
*
The little children open their eyes, learn how to become the successful men.

The sound of birds and the sunlight seem all over the air.

The fragrance of anise-trees and cinnamon-trees spread in the wind.

Each word is gragrant with the poetry and the delight

makes the country, the mountains, the rivers appear

makes the heroes and the poets appear

makes the souls of the deceased appear…

The children with bare feet

jump with joy – in bright and clear rhythms.   

*

A young soldier sits dazedly by the stream.

It whispers to him the song of months and years.

The bright and clear soldier –

tenderly tell some stories.

The bright and clear children swallow every single word of his.

The stream is bright and clear in the children's faces.

A soldier take them walk –

their steps in rhythms

are brighter and clearer.


16-2-2002

NGUYEN ANH NONG


He got out of the bus which had taken him downtown

with a back-pack on his back

-Oh, a little bird was in a small cage

and he carried a corner of the forest with him.

*

-Oh there, a girl in blue indigo shirt

with smiling eyes

she walked very fast under an umbrella

her smile was as nice as cherry flowers the thin petals of which were quivering

And she gave him her own little love.
*

When spring came,

people were crowded on the streets

And there was someone very far from home, did he miss the bus?

Then a young soldier came back to his hometown

He carried the spring forest with him to his village to celebrate Tet holidays on time.

LIKE A MOUNTAIN, HE SITS

(to the poet Lo Cao Nhum)

I.

He sits –

like a mountain

The sun

rolls

over

the stream,

rolls

over

the sorrow

the happiness.

The waves sound splashing.

II.

He sits –

like a mountain

His wife and his children

whisper

to his ears

the brandy of the mountain has the soul

the floor of the moon has the eyes

and the spirit is hiding shakingly in the wine's yeast

III.

He sits –

like a mountain

puffing deeply at

rustic tobacco

the white clouds are floating.

IV.

He sits –

like a mountain

saves up the lights

saves up the pens

saves up the sentences.

NGUYEN ANH NONG



WRITING IN THE HISTORIC MUSEUM OF THE ARMY
   (to the hero of the Army Le Ma Luong)


The time is rough and fossilized
The space is lumped, then sublimated
- There, a little girl holding an ancient pot
steps out from the endlessness.


On the lawn: an old artillery is exposing
which once fired The Thunder, The Ghost (1) into pieces
The power of the fanatics now lies there, being dumbfounded
No one can't compare the tenderness of flowers to my little girl?


Oh, how beautiful you are!
I desire you – so much that – I forget my tiredness
The closer I'm to you, the farther I'm from the Death
You, my little girl, the immortal angel, turn into the poetry.


(1) Names of US war-planes which are displayed here

COME BACK TO MY HOMETOWN

                NGUYEN ANH NONG

I take you to my hometown in the old sunlights which make the rice stubbles and traws yellow
The coconut trees are quivering their coconut leaves cheerfully to welcome us
A mischivious calf jumps and runs in a friendly way
The river is indifferent or flurried or dazed…?
I know I'm not a perfect person
because I miss you, I love you and I feel harassed endlessly
You have waited for me tiredly during our love season
I do have feelings to you therefore I feel rather perplexed
Oh my dear, being a solder's wife, how many times we meet each other
and how precious that gold moment is?
We visit our paternal hometown, then maternal hometown
A step on the train, a step on the bus, a step is low, a step is high
A wind is still a wind,
inside my soul, there is a sound of singing
Suddenly, I hear the horn of the ship to my ears
Oh, god, the horn of the ship makes me startle
because I think that we are seeing off each other.


                   Hanoi, 09/01/2005

WALK LEISURELY

(to Hung and Tuan)

Half of his life

he walks

aimlessly

in his dream

His feet step on the ground which turns into the yellow autumn


He hobbles

on the road far far away

to the dark blue horizon

He carries a heavy load on his shoulders alone.


The sun is bright in his mind

The outerspace is dusky with the shadows of the moon and the stars

That they walk or fly doesn't matter, for they will arrive.

Father and son

one is behind one

one is infront of one

walk

leisurely.

Nguyen Anh Nong

THE SOUND OF THE BIRDS SINGING IN OUR GARDEN


I have heard many kinds of birds singing in many strange places
This early morning I hear the sound of birds singing in our garden
Hey, look at a bush of bamboo, a branch of mulberry, paper-flowers, cycads, cloves, lemons, pomeloes, plums, pergularias
Hey, the river of the countryside is calm and silent
And the clouds from other places are flying into our garden!
Is there any sound as clear, pure, fragrant and passionate as this one?!
This is the first time I look up, swallow every single melodious sound like a child swallows every single drop of milk
This is the first time I'm cheerful, I'm happy as if I were young again
There are all kinds of things in our garden
If someone wants to exchange his fortune for our garden – in this early morning
I consider him – a mad man, a crazy man
Because I never… never accept it
When your breath is still hot like that
Here, a bed, a television, a motorcycle, a tea-pot, a thermos bottle… are they all ears?
(You stand in front of a new mirror, combing your hair – you're so tender – so tender)
There, a little bird is jumping innocently on a branch of green-striped yellow bamboo
Every string of clear sound has been rolling without being tired
There, mugworts, corianders, palms, lemons, chillies, alpinias, aglaonemas are dancing, quivering
There, the pictures on the walls, the tables, the chairs, the verandah, the sun, the moon, an ink-pot, a page og the book, a pen, a kitchen fan… all are in hubbub.
The sound of birds is passionate, sweet, and clear
Honey, it seems our voice turns into dregs
So I have to keep silent, silent, silent
Our garden is infatuated with the sound of birds.


Hung Dung, 03/ 05/ 2004

THE MOUNTAIN

(to MVK and BMC)

I live on the mountain by myself
The white clouds don't fly and lose their way in the city
No matter who buys or sells literature in the market
I don't care when rice and clothes tease poor me!

-Oh yeah, I'm a billionaire of clouds and winds
Days by days, my life – a dreamy boat – keeps floating
Though the moon is up high in the sky
It still shines down into a person – with blue eyes? (*)

(*) At the beginning, the last sentence was "There's not a damn person who has blue eyes (K.D.H)